Earlier this week, World Wildlife Day was celebrated on March 3 with pomp and show across the globe. Our own news and social media were flooded with photographs of Prime Minister Narendra Modi enjoying a leisurely safari at the Gir Forest in Gujarat. The only home to the Asiatic Lion, which, had it not been for the Nawab of Junagadh, would have perhaps not existed.
Prior to Independence, Gir was the hunting ground of the Nawab and it was the Nawab who made sure the lion population did not dwindle in his hunting ground. The royal hunt, or shikar, has always been a common pastime for royalty and nobility in India. Some called it a rite of passage while others looked at it as a symbol of power and prowess, an education and a training.
Historically, games and sports especially those which royalty indulged in often involved challenging an animal or taming one. A power dynamic of some sorts, this could range from a tiresome hunt on foot to an adrenaline punched game of polo. Miniature paintings offer some beautiful, vivid examples of these scenes as do the archival photographs and the hunting lodges that were once used by royalty to rest and recuperate between hunts.
One of my absolute favourite works of this depiction, is a 17th Century Mughal miniature painting depicting a Mongolian hunting tradition called the qamargah. An entourage of shikaris or hunters would encircle and trap the animal while the ruler or leader would make the last kill. In the painting, as the ruler is ready to attack the animal, one of the shikaris has been attacked by a massive antelope. A shikar gone wrong.
Today, hunting to many may serve as an abhorrent act, a terrible crime but it did have its heyday as a sport and hobby of leisure. A few years ago, the Metropolitan Museum of Art organised an exhibition on the royal hunt. ‘The Royal Hunt: Courtly Pursuits in Indian Art’, shed light on the hobby providing visitors a chance to see some magnificent illustrations and paintings as well as objects such as ornate daggers and beautifully designed guns.
Amidst the pandemic in 2020, while digitising some of the archival photographs in my hometown in Bhavnagar I came across a black and white painting of one of my forefathers seated on an elephant in an elaborate howdah. Seated atop with him was an animal. A closer look at the faded photograph and I was startled and amused to see a pet cheetah sitting poised and striking a pose for the photograph.
Cheetahs were a popular addition to the shikar expeditions, often helping in retrieving the prey. I cannot even begin to fathom the level of training and teaching this would have required. When expeditions would span a couple of days and weeks, royalty, along with the entourage would stay in hunting lodges. Many families had their own hunting lodge a few kilometres away from the palatial homes. Sadly while many of these cease to exist now, few have been converted into heritage hotels providing a glimpse into the royal hunt.
Shikarbadi, once the hunting lodge of the Mewar royal family in Udaipur, now runs as a heritage hotel. Adjoining a wildlife sanctuary, one can only imagine the tales and times of a bygone era.
So, how did the great shikaris born with the proverbial silver spoon become conservationists of the forest? I believe the royal hunt greatly differed from poaching and plundering the forest. The natural ecosystem has been greatly respected with the hunt always being an organised affair and expedition rather than a mindless exercise.
The Maharaja of Cooch Behar for example, published a book in 1908 by the Times Press in Bombay. 'Shootings in Cooch Behar: A Record of Thirty-seven Years’ Sport' is an expansive account of the Maharaja’s hunts. Keeping in mind the mating season, the arms and ammunition, he would jot down his annual hunts. Every microscopic detail is included in the book providing the reader insights into the manner by which different animals needed to be tracked, the number of guns required for the shoot depending on the target animal and terrain. The book not only provides a complete understanding of the amount of work, which went into organising the shikar and the actual hunt but also the level of documentation that was done afterwards.
Even today, several members of erstwhile royal families continue to be stalwarts for wildlife conservation and protection. For example, Dr Maharaj Kumar Ranjitsinh Jhala, from the royal family of Wankaner in Gujarat. Dedicating his life to conservation, he has established sanctuaries and national parks for the preservation of wildlife and also been instrumental in the reintroduction of the cheetah in India.
Presently, while royalty no longer indulges in a hunt or shikar, the animal skins and stuffed bodies continue to be an integral part of palaces and royal households often referred to as a trophy. While displaying these publicly has been condoned by many, I do see them as an important part of Indian royalty and its history. A famed hobby that longer exists, making these trophies rare and exquisite.
However, with the art of maintaining them, taxidermy, soon becoming a fleeting skill, a dying art, I do wonder who will conserve them and who will condone them.